When I was president of Fitchburg State University in Massachusetts in the 1990s, our director of student activities informed me he was bringing to campus jazz great Dave Brubeck, then in his late seventies and a Connecticut resident for nearly four decades.

The only thing I knew of jazz was that my daughter Abigail had decided to matriculate at UMass-Amherst in order to study jazz performance there. I called her and informed her of the Brubeck concert, and she was delighted, asking if she could bring along four of her classmates in the school. I said sure - who thought that large numbers of people would be coming to see an aging West Coast Cool Jazz pianist?

The night of the show, however, the auditorium was packed with people of all ages . young and old, students and professional musicians. Brubeck's reputation was historic; he had debuted the celebrated Take Five piece and produced the first jazz album to sell one million copies, Time Out.

He was a frequent international traveling ambassador for jazz, saying that music was an international language. Years later, my daughter Abigail would take the rhythms of jazz to far away Yemen, then in the beginnings of civil war. She sang with guys using water pipes who chewed a peculiar happy weed. She and Brubeck were both right - jazz reached across cultural boundaries and was a great national asset for our country.

When Brubeck came to campus, he asked only that we have for him a plate of fruit and crackers, a very modest demand compared to some artistes. I went back stage to say hello and found a solitary, elegant gentleman dressed in a sports coat, stooped and a bit shy. I was informed by the promoter that I had to introduce Brubeck onstage. I knew very little about jazz; stylistically, I did not know the difference between Brubeck and Burt Bacharach, the one-time husband of Angie Dickinson.

But I went out to the auditorium, looked at the huge crowd and simply said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my honor to present to you, Dave Brubeck."

The applause was thunderous, not for me but for him. He played by himself on the piano straight through for over an hour-and-a-half. I had never known that jazz could be that good.

After the concert Abigail and her friends came up and wondered if they could meet him. It had been an exhausting concert and he was elderly. I asked the promoter, who cautioned that it had to be very short.

I led them into Brubeck's room and congratulated him and quickly introduced the UMass students. They were deferential to this American musical pioneer, and he was incredibly gracious with them, asking about their interest in the jazz genre. Brubeck talked with them as if they were all pros, and then they filed out. I heard one of them say, "I guess I have to practice more." Indeed, he did and became a successful musician in his own right.

Years later when Abigail became a professional vocalist in both New York City and in Chicago, I had the opportunity to meet some of the finest young jazz people. They are a splendid group, but none was more gracious than Brubeck that night.

One day before his 92nd birthday, the maestro's body gave way, but his spirit lives on in the appealing language of West Coast Cool Jazz. Hopefully, his music will continue to inspire young people to follow their dreams and reach across boundaries.

Michael P. Riccards is executive eDirector of the Hall Institute of Public Policy-New Jersey. He is a former college president and a presidential scholar who has authored 16 books.

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